The Healer
by Silvermasque
Summary: The Phantom of the Opera has fled Paris, haunted by his dark conscience. But his deathwish plan takes a turn for the worse when Erik is rescued by a young woman known as Louise. This girl has also had a gypsy past, and harbours dark secrets of her own.
1. Chapter 1

**The Healer**

Erik, tortured by his own dark deeds and desires, flees from the Opera house, and into the country. When he finds himself injured and alone, a young midwife known as Louise steps in to help him. Revelations follow when he learns that she was a gypsy child as well, and has secrets of her own.

_Chapter 1_

Disclaimer: Don't. Cant. Wont. (Though not for lack of trying).

Erik ran on, plagued by his own remorse. He had no home, no money, no Christine, the only thing left to him was his mask. Tears burning down his hateful face, he ran through the under streets of Paris and out into the country. He hid on trains and stole whenever and wherever he could. He grew thinner than was thought possible, cut and scratched himself, yet never stopped to dress his wounds. His clothes were ruined to the point that they hung on his skeletal frame in shreds and clung to his soaked body as he huddled in the rain. Erik never stopped weeping. He hated himself for all he had done. God! (Though he didn't believe in the all powerful deity) He had killed people, all for her! But she still left with the fop, Erik's fists clenched in fury, then crumpled as he buried his face in his hands and wept again.

One dismal evening, running skulked low in a ditch beside and old dirt road, a stone turned under his foot and he slipped, cutting a long gash in his leg. Whimpering, Erik tried to stand, but no sooner had he half-gained his balance did he collapse. Dragging himself to the side of the wagon ruts where hopefully some blind driver might run over him and end his misery, he lay there in the rain whispering to himself, "Christine…Christine…Angel, forgive me…"

The slow clop of a carthorse reached his ears and Erik flung his hands over his face. A faint "Whoa there," was heard and there were two splashes as a pair of men jumped from their wagon. The golden light of a lantern peering into his eyes was the last thing Erik saw before he fell into welcome blackness.


	2. Chapter 2 So long to the Pants

Chapter 2 

Disclaimer: We all know this. I doubt you even read it anyway.

Authoresses Note: Due to circumstances beyond my control (please blame my muse) I'm afraid the white ruffled shirt and _Don Juan_ pants belonging to the Phantom of the Opera were cut and destroyed in the writing of this chapter. I would personally like to apologise to you all, and ask a moments silence in respect for the sacrifice these articles of clothing made so that this piece may continue…thankyou. (On the plus side, we do get Erik down to his drawers, so it balances out, sort of.)

The two wagoners pondered the man stretched out before them. He was a wreck that much was certain. He was the closest thing to a living skeleton either of them had ever seen, only the quick, rasping rise and fall of his chest belayed any sign of life.

"What should we do Jan?" one asked, looking down at his companion. The shorter Jan shook his head,

"I dunno Fron, he looks pretty darn awful."

Fron leant in closer with the lantern and stumbled back in shock. "Good Lord, Jan! Look at his leg!"

Both men recoiled in horror from the blood oozing from Erik's wound.

"Well that settles it," said Jan, "we cant just leave him here, boor bugger."

Fron pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders, "How long d'you think it's been since we passed the old dead tree by Maggie's Creek, Jan?" he asked.

"Bout two miles maybe? Why?"

"Well if yer right, it should be no more'n a mile or so to Miss Louise's, she might know what to do."

Jan peered through the drizzle, searching for a glimpse of a candle in a window.

"Good thought there Fron, she probly would." He reached down and grabbed Erik's legs, "Here, help me get this poor fellow in outta the rain."

Together, the two men hoisted up Erik and shuffled over o the wagon. The man was as thin as a rake, but he had a weight like all the guilt a man could muster in a thousand lifetimes rested on his shoulders. The two wagoners grunted as they heaved Erik into the wagon, among sacks of flour and potatoes and kegs of ale." Jan threw an old blanket over the man and leapt up beside Fron to take the reins.

"Gee up there old Clarabelle, get goin'" the horse nickered in reply and began to plod along.

The men rode in silence, casting wary glances back at their half-dead passenger every now and again, until they reached a small stone cottage where, thankfully, a candle still burned within.

Fron leapt from the wagon and ran through the rain to the door. "Miss Louise!" he shouted above the downpour, "Miss Louise, you there?"

The door opened and a young woman of twenty stood there, wrapped in a blue dressing gown, book in hand.

"What on earth is the matter Fron?" she asked, standing aside to allow him entrance, "Is it Mary?"

Fron shook his head, "we found a man, Miss, Jan an' me, he's lookin' pretty bad."

"Where?" demanded Miss Louise, all business, Fron motioned to the wagon, "We got him in there Miss."

"Right," reguardless of her bare feet, Miss Louise strode to the wagon, she nodded briefly to Fan, who sat shivering by the lantern, and flipped back the blanket covering erik. She gasped when she saw the state of his leg and quickly reached to feel for a pulse at Erik's throat. It was erratic, but still there. Fron bobbed up and down like a frightened chicken, "He was just lyin' there, Miss, by the side o' the road, near Cleary's Bend, we didn't know where else to take him…"

"That's fine, Fron," she cut him off abruptly, "Now the both of you, bring him inside. Quickly!" Miss Louise ran back inside and to her large worktable in the main room. She swept aside the clutter and hurriedly laid a snowy white sheet over the boards. Running to her room, she snatched up her kit and returned just as Fron and Jan staggered in with Erik's limp form.

"right there in the table gentlemen," she commanded, tossing off her dressing gown and tying on a broad white apron over her shirt and soft breeches.

The men struggled, but finally lifted Erik onto the tabletop as Louise washed her hands, still giving orders.

"Now Fron, you stoke up the fore, and Jan, light as many candles as you can find in here, then put the kettle to boiling and throw in a handful of dried leaves from the white pot beside the stove. You'll know them by the peppery smell." She dried her hands on the apron and picked up her scissors to start cutting away Erik's trousers. (Authoress weeps as she forces the beautiful _Don Juan_ trousers to be cut). The two men scurried to do her bidding. Fron turned back from the fire to find Miss Louise carefully snipping away the wounded man's once white shirt, (Authoress weeps again at destruction of ruffled white shirt), to reveal a mass of scratches and scars.

"Good Lord," she murmured, unconsciously echoing Fron's earlier statement, as she ran light fingers over his injuries.

"Miss Louise?" Fron interjected carefully, "Ye cant be strippin' him down like that, its not decent! Perhaps we should go fetch Doctor Frank?.."

Miss Louise snorted, "I wouldn't trust that man with a sick dog, Fron" she replied, "and I cant fix him through his clothes, I'd only do more harm than good." She flashed a grin a the bewildered looking man, "Besides, who d'you think delivered yer wife of that lusty brat of hers not more'n two weeks ago? There's not much I ain't seen, Fron, and I dare say I know more about Mary's in's an' outs 'n you do."

Fron flushed with pride at the mention of his son, the first to live apart from his two daughters, "Aye, he's a loud un' alright, good strong lungs. Simeon, we've decided to call him."

Louise grinned in pleasure, "Good name for a god Lad," she approved, just as Jan came puffing in with a heavy kettle of boiling water and herbs.

"Ah, good man, just on that stand over there," she motioned with her scissors. Having stripped Erik down to his drawers (Authoress momentarily faints onto keyboard at mental image), Louise proceeded to take a bunch of white cloths and began to sponge away the blood and grime on Erik's leg.

Fron and Jan stood together by the fire, watching the blonde young woman as she grimly concentrated on her grisly task. Jan's eyes looked up and down the strange man, seeing him for the first time in a decent light. He stopped in surprise at the sight of the man's face, covered by a half mask.

"Look here!" he exclaimed, stepping forward, "He's wearing a mask!" his fingers stretched forward to remove the disguise, but were suddenly stopped by the firm hand that grasped his wrist.

"Not there'll be none of that, Johannes Smill," Miss Louise commanded, fixing him with a steely glare. "This man wears that mask for a reason and its none of our places to decide to reveal his secrets to the world."

Jan swallowed and stepped back, as miss Louise continued to clean and mop the gash. It was long, reaching halfway down his calf up to the top of his thigh. Luckily it hadn't hit any veins or tendons, but it would still be tricky business to mend.

She drew out a thin needle and a reel of black cotton thread. She threaded the needle and tied a smart knot in the end. Carefully pressing the lips of the wound together, Louise stuck her needle into the man's flesh and drew the thread through. Both men winced.

Louise looked up and noticed their pale expressions, both tinged slightly with green, and smiled in sympathy. "There's a loaf of fresh-baked bread in the kitchen," she told them, "You can help yourselves to the ale too if you so wish." the men nodded gratefully and shuffled around the body on the table fearfully as if it might awaken at any moment. Louise sighed and looked at her work, "After than you may as well head home boys, this poor fellow isn't going anywhere soon."

The two men nodded again and disappeared into the kitchen. "Oh and Fron?" Miss Louise called, he appeared in the doorway, "Yes Miss Louise?" he said, trying not to look as she tugged at the thread to keep the stitches firm. "There's a pot with lavender paste on the window sill, a purple ribbon around the neck, take it, its for Mary. Tell her to rub it on her back at night before she goes to sleep, it will stop the backache. I meant to give it to her tomorrow, but you're here now so you may as well take it with you."

Fron bobbed his head up and down, "As ye wish Miss Louise," he replied, ducking back into the kitchen.

"And give Mary and the girls my regards!" Louise shouted, then turned back to the all but dead man before her. She sighed, it was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

Disclaimer: Don't have any hold on anything whatsoever (But I do have Gerald Butler tied up in my wardrobe until he agrees to sing Music of the Night to me for the rest of my life. However all I can seem to get out of him is "Crazed lunatic" but I'm still optimistic, he can last only so long without any clothes on don't you think?)

Erik opened his eyes to a bright room, with whitewashed walls and a low-beamed roof. A new experience for him. He tried to move but found himself trapped between crisp white sheets. He blinked a few times and opened his mouth to speak, but only a hoarse gasp came out.

"Its about time you woke up." A smooth, low toned voice spoke, "I was beginning to have some doubts."

Erik turned his head, which felt strangely light somehow, to look for the speaker. A lush bodied young woman sat calmly stitching a mass of dark blue fabric in a chair by an open window. An open book rested beside her and she was watching him with clear grey eyes.

"Where am I?" this came out in a croak worse than when he had sabotaged Carlotta in _Il Muto_.

"About half an hours walk from Dian, a little village a weeks journey south of Paris," replied the girl, carefully setting aside her needlework. She crossed to a small stand and poured a mix of two liquids from small decanters into a short glass. "Drink this," she ordered, Erik, with his brains still fuddled, took the glass without thinking and took a swallow.

The taste was foul! He choked and sputtered the stuff all over the bed sheets, he heard the girl sigh and glared up at her. "Are you trying to poison me?" he demanded in a low growl. The girl looked amused,

"After all the effort I went through to save you?" she asked, "Don't be a fool."

The man was still scowling at her, Louise rolled her eyes, "Hold your nose," she advised, "And swallow it quickly, otherwise you'll be croaking all week."

Erik obeyed, clamping his nose shut and tossing back the medicine in one gulp. The stuff burned down his throat and he rubbed at his nose vigorously as it tingled, especially the right side. His nose, all of it… Erik clapped a hand to his bare face, hiding his deformity. "Where's my mask?" he demanded, his voice already losing its rasp and slipping back into its smooth baritone.

"In the other room," the girl replied, offering him a tumbler of water, Erik ignored it.

"Give it…Return it to me at once!"

"I don't think so," said the girl, reaching over and prying his hand away. He refused to move it, so she dug her thumbnail into his hand, making him yelp.

"You have no right to keep it from me!" he shouted, "Unless you enjoy laughing at this deformed face!"

The girl set down the glass and advanced on him, "Au contraire monsieur, I have _every_ right to keep your mask from you, and your deformity has nothing whatsoever to do with it." She snapped, pinning him with steely grey eyes. "I did _not_ spend three days cleaning and stitching your wounds, and another week nursing you through the seven-day fever for you to sweat away under that mask of yours and reinfect the gash on your forehead!" she picked up the glass again and handed it to him. "Now," she said sweetly, "Drink up."

Erik only glared at her, fingering the stitches he had found on his forehead.

"I'll force it down your throat if I have to," she told him, Erik got the uncomfortable feeling she would too if he didn't do as she said so he gulped down the water.

"Ten days you say?" he rumbled, hand still half covering his face, "How did I get here?"

Louise lightly slapped his hand away, "You'll open your stitches of you do that," she reproved, she turned to a large trunk and opened it to remove a large pillow. "Head up," she advised, deftly slipping the soft cushion between his shoulders and the bed.

"Well?" he asked as she settled him back. A pewter-silver cross, swung free of her blouse and dangled above him, close to her pale throat.

"Two wagoners found you about a mile from here, they brought you to me. Oh don't worry," she assured him, catching Erik's stricken look. "They didn't see your face, I made sure of that. And I doubt they'll say anything."

Erik nodded, too exhausted to say much any more, when, to his embarrassment, his stomach gave a complaining growl, pointedly reminding him that he had not eaten in the past few days. The girl laughed, "I'll be right back," she said, moving out of the room. Erik closed his eyes, it was too much to handle, strange that the girl didn't seem phased by his face though, he opened them again when a rich scent assailed his senses. The girl bore a tray with a bowl of warm broth and a pot of steaming tea. Erik struggled into a sitting position as she handed him a bowl and a spoon.

"Eat it slowly," she advised, "Your stomach's not yet used to food still."

Erik did as he was told, spooning the liquid into his mouth. The broth was good, evidently this woman knew her way around the kitchen.

"Thankyou," he said quietly, when he was finished. The girl looked up from her book, where she had been nursing a cup of tea. "You're welcome." She smiled, rising to take his bowl. She placed it on the tray and then picked out a small stone jar from a neat shelf beside the window.

"Now," she said, untucking the covers, "Let's see about that leg of yours."

"What?" Erik asked, trying valiantly to pull the covers around him. Despite all efforts to maintain his dignity, in his fever weakened state, this young sprite of a girl (who was she anyway?) had no trouble him down and pulling up the covers to expose his leg to the light, Erik looked down at the mass of purple-yellow bruising and neat black stitches and felt sick, (How had he done that?)

"Just hold still," the girl commanded imperiously. "I'd really prefer not to have to deal with reinfection."

Erik lay back, feeling utterly humiliated as the girl ran probing fingers over his injury. He winced as she pressed in a particularly tender spot, then reached for her jar and a small wooden spatula. "This may feel a little strange," she warned scooping up a slick of thick green paste. With slow smooth strokes, she spread the pungent mix on his wound.

"Merde!" Erik hissed as his leg tingled uncontrollably, his toes twitched a mad jig as he gritted his teeth in frustration. The girl offered him a smile, "It wont last long, I promise," she said, skimming off excess ointment. She took a roll of bandages and began to wrap Erik's leg, careful not to get any cream on her hands. Erik thought about protesting as her wrapping moved higher and higher up his leg, but didn't think it would really get him anywhere. Slowly the tingle faded and his leg began to feel numb.

"What is your name, Mademoiselle?" he asked instead. The girl tied a final knot in the bandage and straightened, brushing dust from her skirt.

"Louise," she answered with a smile, "Now you need sleep Monsieur, I will be here if you need me." She crossed to the window and closed the shutters."

"Erik, please," he told her, she nodded, and collected the tray. "Sleep well Monsieur Erik," she replied, softly closing the door behind her as Erik fell back into sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 

Disclaimer: Yeah? Well maybe I do own them, what you gonna do about it? (Is shown a document entitling a fine of a large amount of money) Oh ok.

It was night when Erik woke again, there was no sunlight peeking through the shutter cracks and a tallow candle filled the room with flickering gold light. He squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, then realised there was nothing for it, he needed the lavatory.

With an effort, the unmasked Phantom pushed back the covers and swung his legs around. As he sat up, his injured heel hit the floor and he bit back a hoarse gasp of pain. Standing unaided was out of the question, but he shrunk from the thought of calling Louise. (Surely he didn't need to go that badly…Ah!). Erik spied a crutch leaning against the wall, and with a bit of careful manoeuvring, he managed to prop himself upright.

Cautiously, he opened the door at his room, looking around. The darkness did not bother him so he left the candle where it burned.

The first door he tried opened what looked like a workroom, wicker baskets and neat bundles of herbs were organised around three mortar and pestle sets and rows of sharp knives sitting complacently on a broad scrubbed table. Hobbling backwards, Erik tried the door on his right. (Ah ha! Success) he thought wryly, revealing the bathroom.

Exiting the bathroom, Erik's crutch snagged on the skirting board and set him off balance, he stumbled, agony shooting up his leg as he fell towards the floor...

Strong, warm, hands caught him, supple arms draped him around pale shoulders as Erik caught a glimpse of a silver cross against a blue shirt. She smelt of rosemary, he remembered later, rosemary and safety.

Louise supported Erik back to his bed and helped him in, tucking his blankets around him in a no nonsense manner.

"I'm not a bloody invalid"! He protested, irritated. Louise gave an unladylike snort, "Could have fooled me" he heard her mutter under her breath, "Why didn't you call me?"

Erik glared up at her sullenly, "I've been in bed for the last ten days, or so you tell me" he pointed out, "Surely I can make a short walk?"

"Ah, but do you remember anything from those ten days?" Louise asked, Erik remained red faced and silent. "Well then," Louise said, as if that settled everything. "Now by tomorrow that cream should have done its work so I should be able to take your stitches out." Gently she pressed him back onto the bed, the sheets of which had been changed, he noted. Louise smoothed his hair back, which was in dire nee of a was and trim, she noticed, she would attend to that soon, and kissed him lightly on the forehead, just beside his stitches, not even flinching when her fingers skimmed over his ravaged face. Erik blinked in surprise, and Louise gave him a faint smile of warmth tinged with something he couldn't identify.

"Now please try not to be so stubborn if you need anything," she told him, Erik grinned up at her in spite of himself.

"I can but try mademoiselle," he relied with vast mock sincerity.

"I hope you wont mind if I don't hold my breath," she retorted with another smile. She leant over and blew out the candle, Erik could almost imagine her lips sending him a soft feathery kiss through the shadows. (Wait! What was he thinking?)

Their eyes met in the sudden darkness as Louise twisted ribbons of smoke from the red ember of the candlewick around her fingers thoughtfully. Without thinking, Erik reached out and took her hand, drawing it to his lips in a gesture of gratitude.

"Thankyou mademoiselle Louise," he purred softly, Louise inclined her head gracefully, not breaking eye contact.

"Just Louise, Monsieur Erik," she replied in her low smooth voice.

"Then I am just Erik," he answered. For a long time, neither of them moved, then Louise gently reclaimed her fingers.

"Goodnight Erik," she said, backing slowly towards the door, Erik nodded as she closed the oaken exit, leaving it a fraction open if he so needed.

"Goodnight Louise," he murmured to the lingering fragrance of rosemary and the warm sweet smell of extinguished candles. The dark was welcoming and slumber beckoned, yet it was a long time before either of them drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own 'em. (But my plan for world domination is coming along nicely)

When Erik woke for the third time, it was to the whistle of a boiling kettle and the comfortable clatter of plates being put on a table. Erik's hand groped unconsciously for his mask, but retracted when he remembered it was no longer there. He sighed, the mask afforded him anonymity and respect, it was the only face he had ever shown to the world, the mystery of the mask was no easy thing to part with.

And yet...the lack of fear in Louise's eyes, her seeming unconcerned actions, as if his face was just as any other, it gave him a strange feeling. Was it hope?

No. Hope was not for a creature such as him, he belonged to the cold darkness where no light could ever find him, but still...

He was shaking his head in bewilderment as Louise appeared at the door.

"Ah, you're awake," she smiled, "How do you feel?"

Erik raised his eyebrows, musings forgotten, "How is one meant to feel after having one's leg torn open and suffering from the seven-day fever?" he asked. She looked quite pretty today, with a rustic kind of charm. She was dressed in a blouse of dark lavender and a simple brown skirt, cut in an older style, unlike the new bustles of Paris, it hung from her waist in soft sweeps that whispered around her ankles. Her feet, he was noticing, she seemed to prefer bare, rather than cram them into wooden heeled shoes. Lord knows he had seen enough ballerinas weep as they put on their street clothes after spending hours on their points.

"As weak as a kitten and as hungry as a wolf cub, actually." Louise replied tartly, stepping over to feel his forehead, "Well, your temperature's gone down, do you think you can make it to the kitchen for breakfast?"

Erik nodded and started to struggle up, then stopped as he realised he was only wearing a thin nightshirt. (Yummy!)

"Uh, my clothes Madame?" he asked a little shamefacedly, slipping back into formality to hide his embarrassment.

"Burnt," Louise replied a little absently, examining the stitches on his head. "They were beyond repair." (Authoress goes into momentary mourning at the thought of the _Don Juan_ pants and ruffled shirt being thrown onto the flames). She withdrew her gaze from his forehead and dropped it to his half bare chest. Erik could have sworn he saw a smile quirk on her lips, through a curtain of blonde hair, "Ah yes, don't worry, I'll fetch you something." She slipped out the door and returned a few moments later with an armful of the dark fabric he had seen her with when he first woke...With the sun lighting red glints in her hair... the pewter cross lying gently on the curve of her neck...and the sweet subtle smell of rosemary...Erik shook the thoughts from his head as he sat up. (An after effect of the fever, that's all) he told himself, (that's all).

"Try this on," the object of his thoughts announced cheerfully, handing him the dark blue mass. It was a dressing gown, he realised, obviously it had been altered a number of times, but still looked long enough to fit him.

"Your husbands?" he asked, pulling on one sleeve, Louise shook her head,

"Its just me here," she answered his underlying question. "I'm friends with a group of players who pass this way three or four times a year. They leave costumes and props with me for alterations or because they are simply worn out. That," she indicated Erik's dressing gown, "has been a mages robe, a sea kings cloak, an admiral's jacket and Romeo Montague's star-crossed lovers costume in which he hid beneath Juliet's balcony and proclaimed his love."

"But soft," Erik quoted, "What light from yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, already so sick and twisted in her livery..."

Louise laughed and clapped her hands in delight. "Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefor art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name..."

Erik was impressed, she spun the words with passion and rhythm that would have equalled any stage actress.

"Well done," he approved, feeling rather pleased with himself as he had managed to get into the dressing gown without causing himself any more bodily harm. Louise smiled at him, and again he caught the flash of silver at her throat.

"You should try the old church across the fields over there," she motioned to the closed window. "It was never consecrated, the old priest died just before the ceremony took place. Its old, but the acoustics are magnificent."

"So whom does it belong to now?" Erik asked as Louise opened the window to allow in the cool morning air.

"Me, actually," she answered, Erik stared, and Louise shrugged. "It was on Farmer McKinnon's land, but when he died, the property was divided and sold. I got the church, a small meadow and a good portion of the forest, which is useful for my concoctions." She flashed him a wicked grin, obviously remembering the day with relish, "Got it for a song and a dance," she stated proudly, then clapped her hands to her mouth and started to giggle. "Oh Lord that came out something awful!" she exclaimed, Erik stared and she coughed. "My apologies, Monsieur, I don't know what came over me."

"That is quite alright mademoiselle," he replied, motioning for her to continue, he found himself enjoying the way she spoke, with reckless abandon and slightly left of what propriety dictated, and she could laugh! She could laugh with him without a mask and they were not taunting chuckles that came to her ears, but simple enjoyment of amusing oneself in conversation with anther person.

"Anyway," she continued, once her fit of giggles had stopped, "The poor church, they were actually going to tear it down, can you imagine?" she sorted in disbelief, "A beautiful stone monument, pulled apart for scrap, complete with stained glass windows and an organ the township nearly went broke to pay for." She sighed, "The extent of human stupidity never ceases to amaze me." She shook her head, leaning her palms on the windowsill to gaze outside where the birds trilled sweetly.

Erik was sitting up now, covers pushed back, "A organ, you say?" he asked excitedly, both longing for and loathing the thought of cool ivory keys beneath is fingers once more, to while away the hours entranced in the haunting soul of music. Louise turned from the window to face him,

"You can play?" she asked brightly, at his nod her face broke into the most radiant smile he had ever seen, "That's wonderful! It needs some work, I know, but I don't have the first clue where to begin." She gave a light laugh, "I'm afraid my talent for knowing a little something about everything ends with repairing a musical instrument." She walked back to Erik and slung his arm over her shoulder, grunting slightly as she helped him to stand. Leaning against her, Erik grabbed his crutch, straightening his dressing gown with a flick of his wrist, the two made their way down the hall to the large, warm kitchen. Louise helped Erik into a chair, blonde hair falling across her face. Without a thought, Erik brushed it back behind her ears and rested his hand briefly on her shoulder blade, drawing his fingers across the lavender cloth of her blouse, Louise stiffened.

"Please don't do that Erik, its very distracting," she murmured, moving away to the stove.

At first, Erik was hurt, angry at himself for thinking anyone could ever want his company or not be disturbed to the point of screaming by his touch. Then he realised Louise's features were not etched into the constant revulsion his bare face was met with, but held an ancient memory in her eyes, unconsciously rolling her shoulders, she stared off into space. Suddenly she shook herself and bent to the stove to retrieve the breakfast she had cooked.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked gently, Louise flashed him a smile.

"Of course, my mind just wandered a little is all," she replied brightly. But as she handed him a bowl of porridge he could see the old pain still captured in her stormy grey eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Nu uh, not mine.

A/N: If your wondering about the whole rosemary and cross thing, well, I just like putting recurring themes in, kinda a strange little twist (OK I've been watching too much Lost).

"So," Louise settled herself across from Erik, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. "Who was she?" Erik stared at her,

"Who?"

"Christine," Erik's spoon dropped from his fingers with a clatter, splashing porridge onto the table, Louse picked it up and returned it to his nerveless grasp.

"How do you know that name?" he asked hoarsely, she shrugged and took a sip of her tea, grey eyes regarding him compassionately,

"You babbled an awful lot when the fever took you," she told him, "You kept crying out, "Angel, or Christine" most of the time," she took another sip and looked pointedly at his untouched breakfast, reminding him with her eyes that he needed to eat. "Sometimes I even heard you sing."

Erik was startled, and for the second time, he spilt hot gruel onto the table. Louise sighed and got up to retrieve a cloth from the sink.

"If you don't want to tell me, you don't need to," she said, wiping down the polished wood, "But a trauma that had you running through the ditch by the side of Cleary's Bend is something that cant be bottled up forever."

Erik finally found his appetite, and started in on his breakfast, "Christine was...she was my world," he said finally, "She kept me alive," he gripped his spoon tightly, "And she left with that fop!" the metal spoon snapped in his fingers, one piece flying across the room and out the window. Louise stared at the spoon head, buried snapped end first in a row of window boxes, then slowly turned to look at Erik, "I see."

"No you don't!" Erik cried, pushing his now empty bowl away, Louise watched in concern as his voice roughened and he buried his head in his arms on the table, "My face...my mask...she couldn't take what she saw in front of her, I lied, said I was her Angel of Music, sent from heaven to teach her to sing!"

"Love makes people do strange things," Louise said softly, coming around the table to lay one rosemary hand on his shoulder.

"Then why did she leave?" Erik turned his face towards her, begging for an answer, in turn, Louise knelt and wrapped her arms around him like he was a small child,

"Perhaps it wasn't because she didn't love you, but because her love was a different kind to yours, it sounds to ma as if she loved you as a father, more than a lover." She looked at him carefully, noting his torn and heartbroken face. "Lovers aren't always what we dream of, and there is more than one type of relationship in the world." Erik slowly stopped shaking, and returned her gaze thoughtfully.

"Thankyou mademoiselle," he said heavily, "You have given me much to think about."

"Your welcome," she smiled, Erik smiled back he could count on one hand the number of times he had truly smiled like that, yet it was surprising how easily his distorted muscles relaxed into the unfamiliar expression.

"I pray you mademoiselle, I promise I shall not intrude upon your good hospitality for much longer, come tomorrow I shall leave you to your life."

"Oh no you don't" Louise retorted, standing, "You have at least a month before I'm prepared to let you go anywhere unaccompanied, let alone travelling the way you were before."

"I very much doubt, Mademoiselle Louise, that you would be able to stop me," Erik half joked.

"Watch me." She shot back. Then, in a moment of absolute clarity, they looked at one another and began to laugh.

That evening, Louise took out the stitches in Erik's leg. He sat slumped in a chair, wincing each time she pulled the cotton from his nearly healed wound with a quick _Snip Twist_ of her scissors.

"Oh stop being such a baby," Louise rolled her eyes. Erik glared at her with indignation,

"It hurts," he stated. If Louise had been born in this century she would have replied "Well duh" instead she looked up at him with amusement.

"Erik, your acting like a fop having his precious hair cut." She smiled, Erik shut up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Disclaimer: 4 copies of the soundtrack, 1 copy of the movie, countless downloads from the net, one book, but no ideas (apart from Louise).

Erik walked to the kitchen on his own when he woke the next morning, and paused in the doorway when he heard a smooth alto voice singing a lilting folk-song. He peered inside to find Louise washing dishes and she watched the sun rise outside.

"Slowly, slowly walk the path,

And you might never stumble or fall,

Slowly, slowly walk the path,

And you might never fall in love at all."

(Too late) Erik thought ruefully as he leaned against the doorframe. Louise continued to sing.

"Lonely, lonely is the heart

That ne'er another can calm the soul

Lonely, lonely, plays the part,

That has to live all alone"

"Well done," Erik said softly, leaning against the doorframe, Louise spun,

"Erik!" she gasped, hands dripping water and suds onto the floor, "What are you doing up?"

"I was drawn by the sound of a heavenly voice, singing of love," he mocked, smiling. Louise went to put her hands on her hips, then realised she was dripping dishwater everywhere and reached for a tea towel instead.

"You are in no condition to be walking without your crutch," she admonished, drying her hands, "But since your up…"

She pulled a chair out for him at the table and ladled a spoonful of porridge into a bowl.

"Please try not to break the spoon this time?" she asked, getting her own breakfast of bacon and eggs to seat herself across from him. Erik stared at her sumptuous meal, then down at his own suddenly depressingly plain bowl of gruel. He heard Louise laugh,

"Like I said," she told him, "Your stomach is not yet used to heavy food," Erik gave her a hurt look, which she ignored, "And until I deem you ready, you will be getting exactly what your given."

"You could at least eat this stuff with me, so I don't feel so bad," Erik pointed out, acidly. Louise shook her head,

"Don't be a fool, I hate porridge," she replied tartly, Erik found this to be extremely unfair,

"If I promise to use my crutch can I have some?" he pleaded, Louise's braid slid across her shoulders,

"Perhaps, if your good, monsieur,"


	8. Chapter 8

Erik and Louise were just sitting down to a lunch of hearty beef stew, the smell of which had been driving Erik crazy for the last half hour when the church bell began to toll.

Louise looked out the window in puzzlement as she swallowed a mouthful of stew, then as a faster set of four bells followed by a low gong echoed across the low hills she started. Choking on her new mouthful of fresh stew she turned her grey eyes to the odd looking calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. A strange series of coloured dots and ribbons marked certain days with bold splashes of colour. Her eyes widened in shock as she realised something and she jumped up, knocking her chair backwards.

"What is it?" Erik asked, sounding mystified. Louise hurriedly spat the offending piece of meat into her napkin.

"It has to be Sara," she muttered, "Mabel never has a problem at all." She glanced at Erik, who sat with an eyebrow raised and a spoonful if stew halfway to his mouth.

"Well?"

"I have to go," she called over her shoulder, bolting for the door. Erik dropped his spoon and dashed after her,

"What is going on?" he demanded, Louise stood in her bedroom, pulling on a pair of breeches under her skirt, then untying the swathes of cloth and discarding it onto the floor.

"Sara's gone into labour," she explained, throwing a few things into her kit.

"Which means what?" he asked as she ducked past him and sat on the tinderbox to pull on her boots.

"You here that?" she tilted her head in the towns direction, Erik nodded,

"Of course."

"That's a signal I have worked out with the townsfolk, if an accident happens or a woman goes into labour they peal out that little tune and I'm on my way." Her shoes on, she ran out the door to Cinnamon.

Come on you," she muttered, leaping bareback onto the mare. A second round of bells sounded, more urgent this time, "Oh Lord," she muttered, kicking at Cinnamon's sides. "Stay out of trouble till I get back." She commanded, pulling Cinnamon around and cantering down the road in a cloud of dust. Erik stood in puzzlement, then shrugged and blew her a kiss,

"Good luck Louise," he threw at her ears. She waved one hand in reply, red gold hair streaming over her shoulder as she flew down the road.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: (blows harmonica note) All together now! We all know I don't (clap!) own the Phantom (clap!) Own the Phantom! (Clap!) Own the Phantom. We all know I don't (clap!) own the Phantom! We all just love our Erik!

Erik limped back inside, humming the song Louise had been singing that morning (By the way, It's _Golden, Golden_ by Silly Wizard), it felt good to sing again, he paused inside the door, looking at a familiar brown object, Louise's kit.

"Merde!" he hissed, she would need that. He looked out towards the town. The dust from his healer's wild ride had already settled, he paused uncertainly. He could take it, but he would need his mask, and he had no idea where Louise had put the damned thing.

He stood there undecided, when a familiar toll started out over the hills.

_Clang! Dang-dang-dang-dang-dang-ding dong! _(My failed attempts at belling Point of no return). Erik started, only Louise would know that, the signal was for him. He limped quickly into her room and looked around. No sign of a mask on the shelves, but a half opened trunk gave a glimpse of white through the shadows. He reached in and tugged the item out.

It was not his mask however, but an ivory box, with gilt paint that spelled the words

_For My Darling Daughter Claire_

Erik stared, Louise had a daughter? Yet she wore no ring, and had claimed to have no husband. Unless she was lying to protect them from him. He gripped the box in anger. _Damn his face!_

Then Point of no Return started again, over the hills. Erik shook his head, dropping the box, a tiny scrap of paper fluttered out from inside and disappeared under the bed, he reached out one long hand and felt around underneath, beside the dust, his fingers brushed against a familiar object, his mask.

Pulling it out, Erik quickly shoved the box back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. He looked at the white porcelain for a moment, then slipped it on. Strange, he thought, that it would ever feel uncomfortable to hide my face, rather than show it. He would have mused longer (mused, I love that word) but this was not the time for reflection. Tying the strings on his shirt he walked determinedly to the door and picked up the kit. Then he winced, looking down at the gravel track, then down at his bare feet, he looked around for a moment, and found his boots, cleaned and polished, just behind the door.

Aha, he thought, sitting to pull them on, he grabbed up his crutch, he would have preferred to leave it, but he knew in his weakened state, he could not make the distance, let alone survive the berating from Louise once she found out.

Kit in one hand, and crutch in the other, the remasked Phantom set out, limping along as quickly as he dared to Dion.

It took Erik forty minutes to walk to Dion, stopping once for a breather. The kit was heavier than he thought. He limped into the small town and looked about in bewilderment, where to find Louise?

Then he shrugged, a town this small, everyone had to know everyone else's business.

"Excuse me?" he called to a woman sweeping her porch, she looked up, took one glance at him and made the sign of the cross over her ample breasts, quickly stumbling her huge weight back into her house, slamming the door shut. Of course, Erik thought, it wouldn't be easy.

He sighed and turned away, to find a young boy of about eight, clutching a half eaten apple, staring at him.

"Yes?" he asked coldly, the boy gaped, tilting his head back to look up at him.

"Gor Blimey!" he whispered, "You is tall!"

"How observant of you," Erik retorted, scanning the streets for another adult.

"Hey!" the boy said sharply, "What you doin' with Miss Louise's bag?"

Erik looked down at the boy piercingly, "You know her?" he asked, quickly taking a more mollifying tone, the boy snorted, taking a bite out of the half eaten apple.

"Course I does" he replied, around the mouthful "she delivered me little bruvas 'n' sistas for me mam."

"I need to find her" Erik said, lifting the kit to prove his point, "She needs this. And I don't know my way around town."

"D'ye ken where she be?" the boy swallowed his apple and looked at Erik expectantly, Erik racked his brain (has that term ever struck someone as a little odd, not to mention the mental picture it goes with).

"Someone called Sara, went into labour?" he guessed, the boy whistled,

"Gain?" he mumbled around a fresh bite, "Hooee, she'll be lucky te keep it. Too early she is." He turned and wandered down the street, then looked back at Erik, "Ye comin?" Erik snatched up his crutch and the kit and followed. The boy's name, he learned, was Shaun, second son of Peter the blacksmith, he had seven siblings, apparently fairly average around here, four of whom were "Sprites fresh outta the kettle" and still too young to work, while he, being third eldest, but youngest to work, "Gets stuck with all the rotten jobs ye ken?" helping his father in the smithy. He told Erik not to worry about Old Missus Crumper "Grumper Crumper with the biggest Rumper, we calls her" he whispered conspiratorially to Erik, looking around fugitively in case the large bodied woman was to come swooping down on him with her yard stick.

Erik nodded and followed, sympathizing with the boys woes, and laughing at the amusing, but accurate descriptions of the townsfolk.

"That there be Jessie Cutts, could cut butter with that nose o' hers, if ye could get past her ego, and sittin' over there on the log is Ol' Toby, he tells the best stories in town, if ye kin stand the stench o' the pipe he smokes, reckons he does it jus so all the busybodies don't come near 'im. And this 'ere is Sara Bickerman's house, good luck." He indicated the house with his apple core, where a loud screaming and crying could be heard, issuing from the open windows upstairs.

"Thankyou," Erik said gratefully, leaning on his crutch, he looked down at young Shaun and a thought crossed his mind, "May I have that?" he asked, pointing at Shaun's apple core. Shaun stared at him, then shrugged.

"Don't know what ye wantin' it fer, but sure Mister, here" the slightly sticky core landed in Erik's outstretched palm, and he quickly retracted his hand against his breast.

"Now you have to keep this a secret," he whispered, setting down his crutch. "One" he held up a finger, and wrapped his hand around the core, "Two," he made a ball with his hands and shook the apple core next to Shaun's ear, "Can you hear that?" Shaun nodded his sandy head. "Now blow on it" a short huff brushed over Erik's fingers.

"Three!" Erik opened his hands and tossed out a big shiny red apple, Shaun caught it and stared at it wide eyed.

"Thanks mister!" he exclaimed, taking a bite, "How'd ye do that?" Erik chuckled,

"Ah, now that would be telling," he laid a finger to his lips, "Now remember, not a word."

Shaun nodded delightedly and scampered off down the street as Louise rushed out the door, covered in blood and fluid.

"Oh Erik, thank God!" she exclaimed, snatching up her kit, "Come inside, I need your help!"

Erik baulked at the door, "Me? But, it's a birthing…" Louise grabbed his hand,

"There is no time!" she stated, dragging him upstairs. "Genna's fainted, Missy's got one baby and I've got to get the other baby out before we lose Sara."

She towed him up the stairs and into the room with all the screaming. An extremely pale dark haired woman of thirty or so lay exhausted on the bed, while a white-faced child of fourteen clutched a wailing bundle and a crumpled heap of blue on the floor bespoke the fate of the third.

"Put your hands here." Louise grasped Erik's wrists and placed them on Sara's distended belly, then she pulled open her kit and started smearing an oily lotion onto her hands. "Now when I say push, push down, one steady hard movement. Alright?" Erik nodded, keeping his eyes trained on a crack in the wall, even as his face continued to burn bright red. Louise flipped back the Sara woman's skirts and gently reached in her hands, "Right" she murmured, then her voice cracked, "Push!"

Erik pushed down, and felt something move under his hands, he risked a look at Louise who was holding a slimy bundle of something, then glanced away again, feeling sick.

Louise looked down at the second twin, no screaming came from the lungs of this little one, no breath moved in its chest. It was half the size of its sister, Louise gently wiped the blood from its brow and eyes and bowed her head in sorrow. The baby's heart had been formed outside its body, it had been dead for close to a week. She checked the sex, a male, the heir to the Bickerman's dead before he even began.

"Here is your longed for son, Patrick." She muttered, breathing deeply. She looked at the other girl. "Can you handle Sara, Missy?" she asked quietly, "There is something I must attend to." The fourteen year old nodded fiercely.

"The weed?" she demanded harshly, Louise nodded and the girl's eyes hardened, "He's going to pay." She promised ominously.

"That he will," Louise lifted a damp cloth from a bowl of water by Sara's head and wiped the baby's face down, Sara moaned quietly. Then she took a blanket from a cradle set in the corner and proceeded to wrap the baby gently, with infinite tenderness. She glanced at Erik, "Come with me."

A/N: Shaun is a pigment of my infatuation, he jumped straight out of my head while writing, I think I quite like him actually. (giggles) Think I might keep him, what do you think? Should be become our little Healer Mascot?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Disclaimer: (Spoken by Shaun) Dain't ye ken it by now? She dain't own nothin' of it!**

**Louise: Ahem**

**Shaun: Oh, 'cept you Miss Louise (Louise beams, Authoress waves flag with Go Erik! on one side and Yay Shaun! on the other).**

**Review Replies**

**Cap'n Meg: I know!(weeps over shirt)**

**Lady Assasssin Moonbeam: Thankyou, Go Shaun!**

**Keeper of the Dreams: I'm musically illiterate so I don't know, but thankyou**

**Masked Grace: Poor Eri, he suffers such torture at my hands, I want more of your phic!**

**Starlightcrybaby: I'm glad you love it, so do I**

**Blaze-Logan Lover: Here is your update**

Louise stalked down the stairs of the Bickerman home, her back as straight as an arrow, her head held stiffly. But the babe she clutched was kept in a hold so gentle and tender, it was as if the tiny boy was made of fine china. Erik followed, pausing a moment to snatch up his crutch at the door and chased after her down the dusty street.

She walked determinedly past several houses and a clump of women who stood aside quietly when she approached with her bundle, making the sign of the cross as she and the masked Erik passed them by.

She halted outside a crude log building, a lopsided sign swinging above in the breeze proclaimed the place as a tavern with its clumsy painting of grapes and a cup. She turned and looked for Erik, who came puffing up behind her.

"Whatever happens inside, just stay silent and hold yourself tall," she warned, "And don't take your mask off, the people of this town are not as forgiving of appearances as I am." "People everywhere are unforgiving of my appearance," he panted, leaning on his crutch. Louise gave a short, sad laugh and walked up the three rickety steps to enter the tavern. She stood just inside for a moment, blinking to allow her eyes to adjust as Erik came and stood behind her, leaving his crutch leaning against the steps.

The tavern was low and smoky, raucous voices laughed and mugs chinked as the men inside drank. Half a dozen thick-bodied labourers were scattered across the single room, drinking and talking loudly. One by one conversations broke off as the men looked up to find the local midwife standing holding a blanket wrapped bundle, and a mysterious tall man standing guard behind her.

"Mickel Bickerman rejoice," her voice rang out across the now silent room, "Today, you are a father again!" a shout went up and the men raised their tankards in cheer to a low browed, muddy haired man who sat clumped on a bench. He blinked and raised his mug in return, accepting claps on the back with pride, as though he had been the one to suffer the labour.

"What have I?" he cried, rising like a thick-headed bull, "Have I a son to carry on the Bickerman name at last?"

"I bring word of twins" Louise proclaimed, several shouts and whistles went up across the room, and muttered comments like "Still got it eh, Mickel?" and "The old dog!"

"Your daughter lies safe in her mothers arms," Louise continued, walking towards the ugly brute of a man, the men of the bar all caught the singular use of the word and waited with ale heavy breath for her next words. "And here I bring," she paused as Mickel came towards her, stumbling slightly under the influence of the ale he had drunk. She pretended not to notice as his eyes fell to her full breasts lustily as he panted with a dog's desire. She held out the bundle, letting the cloth fall away from the tiny body to reveal the distorted chest of the babe, "Your son!"

Mickel took one look at the flesh of his flesh and leapt back with a howl, knocking over another man and the bench he had been sitting upon. The other men clamoured loudly to see the babe, their ale fuddled wits confusing their sense of what was wrong. Louise advanced mercilessly on Mickel, thrusting the dead boy under his nose.

"Seed of your sowing, Mickel, issue of your flesh, and distorted by the weed you smoked with your ale mates as you pretended to hunt wild hares!" By now the rest of the men had been the baby, or at least gathered what had happened and they fell silent. Watching in agitation as the midwife tore down a man twice her age and size.

"Your own doing, Mickel, your own fault, none but you are to blame for this tragedy, your son's death lies now upon your soul, already the weight drags you down to the fires of Hell."

Mickel leapt up angrily, "You lie, whore!" he shouted, "This is done be your hand, yours or that scheming slut that is my wife, so weak she can't even care for her own children, a task that falls to my shoulders!"

"And such a fine job you do of it too, Mickel" Louise answered sarcastically, "Here in a tavern while your daughters stitch their hands to the bone to make ends meet."

"What use are they?" Mickel shouted, "Lazy bitches the lot of them! And what does it matter?" he spread his hands and appealed to the men around him, "I'll father sons yet, what is one mistake now?"

"No, you wont." Louise replied, "Sara has no wish to bear your seed any longer. She asked me long ago, if she ever lost another child, to make sure she would never carry again." She looked death at his gaping face, "So if you wish for sons, Mickel, you will have to seek out your mistresses to mother them. I warned you when I first met you that the drug you smoke will destroy you and those around you."

With that, she turned to leave but Mickel's voice rang out, "You will not touch my wife you thieving little gypsy slut!" Louise stiffened and turned, her grey eyes flashing, but Erik was faster. One long arm shot out and grasped the man's throat in a vice-like grip.

"You will not speak to the lady so, you indiscriminate dog" Erik hissed, slowly beautifully, no one was to insult the one person who had ever looked upon his face without alarm. Mickel stared up at him, shaking in fear as Erik began to squeeze.

"No!" he gargled as his air was cut off, Erik looked questioningly at Louise, she shrugged, still holding the babe and walked outside into the sunlight. Erik glared around the men at the bar, and then did the same, releasing Mickel to the ground with a dull thump.

They made a short detour back to the Bickerman house for Louise to collect her kit and break the news to Sara. Erik stayed outside, clenching and unclenching his fists angrily as a wail of sorrow sounded out from the window above him. Louise walked out, dressed in a clean shirt and faint smears of blood still on her breeches, her head was bowed and she had a numb, calm expression on her face. With unshaking hands she untied Cinnamon and climbed onto her back. She turned and offered a pale hand to Erik, her face still etched in that endless withdrawn calm. Erik accepted and pulled himself up behind her, Cinnamon pranced nervously, but Louise stroked her neck and she calmed down. Taking up the reins, Louise gave a sharp "Hya!" and they cantered down the dusty street, and back to Louise's cottage.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Disclaimer:

Erik: My turn. I and all my fellow characters, personas and ideas are under the ownership of Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, and Andrew Lloyd Webber. The Authoress of this phic has no original claim to us whatsoever.

Shaun: Oy! What about me?

Erik: Except for you of course Shaun.

Shaun: (grins) Thank'ee kindly Mister!

Ladies and gentlemen I am in a good mood today, which is why I am finally finishing and posting this chapter for you (and it was one of the first pieces I wrote in this phic). Why am I in such a good mood you might ask? Well I shall tell you…

It was midnight last night and I was in my bed, rereading some work on my laptop before mum came in and told me lights out. I lay there for a while, daydreaming and thinking about what I still had to write for my phics, until I finally slipped off into La la Land. During my stay in this wonderful place, dear readers, I was fortunate enough to have a dream. I don't remember all of it, nor the exact circumstances or storyline, but I do remember this:

I was kissing Erik.

Erik, not Gerik, as his lips were twisted, yet deliciously good.

Let me reiterate that for you.

I

Was

Kissing

Erik

Me

Erik

Kissing

Erik

Really kissing

Me

Gah!

When I woke up all nice and snug in my warm bed I had a grin to rival Luna Park, and an attack of the warm fuzzies. I will be grinning for the rest of the day, ladies and gentlemen, and feeling extremely good about myself.

Erik

Kissing

Me

Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Life is good.

Clattering onto the gravel and stone path, the two gypsy born halted at Louise's door, the healer slid down quietly from Cinnamon's back, Erik handed her the kit, watching her with concern. She took the bag numbly as he jumped down to put Cinnamon in the stables, then removed his mask in relief. Louise walked slowly to the door and opened it, closing the heavy barrier as she went inside. In the stables, Erik listened as he heard the footsteps pause for a moment, to remove her boots, then a faint slapping as Louise dashed to her room and cast herself onto her bed with a low moan of inhumane agony and loss. Erik hurried Cinnamon into her stall and ran inside to find his healer sprawled on the bed, weeping as though her heart was broken. He paused a moment as Louise lifted her tear worn gaze to his face, chest heaving as sobs caught in her throat, then she collapsed back onto her covers and began to cry again. Erik went to her and gathered her in his arms,

"Easy little one," he soothed her, "It's alright, cry all you need,"

Louise clung to him, he could feel the gagging sobs that shuddered through her body. Without really knowing why, Erik laid his scarred cheek on her soft blonde hair, the ever-present smell of rosemary invading his senses, and began to sing.

"_Close your eyes for you're eyes will only tell the truth, _

_And the truth isn't what you want to see._

_In the dark it is easy to pretend, _

_That the truth is all it ought to be._"

Louise snaked a hand around his neck, pressing her hand to the smooth side of his face, supping and cradling his strong jaw line. The rhythmic gasping in her throat, too elemental to be called sobbing, slowed in a fit of coughing and Erik pulled her against his chest, holding her tightly. With the hand that was around his neck the young midwife tugged the Phantom down to press her distraught lips, salted and fiery with tears, to his scarred cheek, staining his skin with her weeping. Erik tried to pull away but she dragged him down again and put her warm, soft, wet lips to his in a fierce, chaste, kiss. Erik stiffened slightly under her embrace, but she released him and began to weep against his chest once more.

Excuse me as I pause a moment to explore Erik's thoughts: (…did she just?…and what?…uh…oh god what do I do now?…Does this mean she wants me to kiss her back?…Come on Erik, think!…aha! When in doubt, music…I think…)

Cooing a soft lullaby, Erik gently lay down Louise on her bed and tucked a blanket over her. her chest still convulsed with sobs every now and again, but her eyes were closed and she appeared to be sleeping. Her mouth moved a little and Erik drew closer to hear her words,

"Erik…Claire…" he made out, but nothing more. With a sigh of exhaustion, he tucked her in and collapsed in the high-backed hair in a corner, falling asleep himself in a matter of moments as a wave of fatigue crashed over him.

Erik

Kissing

Me

…sorry, cant get over it, was a fantastic dream.

Erik


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I'mmmm Baaaaaaaaaaaaccccccccccccckkkkkkk!

Disclaimer: Nopedy nope-nope-nope!

Review Replies

EbonyLilyofOz: I LOVE Hugh Jackman! But I also think that Christine's choice wasn't between good and bad, but passion and security. Though if it had been, Hugh would have been an excellent choice, even as the Phantom himself, he's an awesome singer. Hugh? Drool every time he walks on screen. But in essence, I am Erik's slave, though a choice between Van Helsing or Wolverine and Erik would have had me hard pressed. Raoul is just to safe for me, he's so boring, sweet secure, lavish in praise and gifts, just like my ex bf, yawn city. Anyway, nice to hear from you

Trisana: Sorry but I'm going on without you my dear. One Cloned Gerry coming your way my dear, don't forget to feed him every now and again.

Aurella: Sorry about the wait, writers block

Reltistic: rhino? Uh...yeah, cant wait for your block to end

Lady Assassin Moonbeam: Mm...I liked that dream

Daylightsshadow: Welcome! Shaun mascot flags are on the table by the door.

Jen Lennon: (cries) poor Don Juan outfit...am sad

Cap'n Meg: Don't glare at me like that! (but I am a lucky bitch)

Erik woke when his elbow slipped off the chair and his chin connected sharply with a wooden arm. Groaning he rubbed his jaw, his gaze flickering towards the bed. The sheets were crumpled, but with no sign of Louise. He jumped up and ran out the door, worry etched into his face like a second disfigurement. He found her in the kitchen, measuring grain and feed for Cinnamon. She gave no sign she had heard him enter, eyes lost in the steady stream of golden grain that poured from the wooden scoop into the bucket with a rattling chinking sound.

"L-Louise?" he blurted out, she let the last of the grain fall into the pail and turned to look at him. "Good morning Erik," she replied calmly. Erik looked at her with concern, a scant few hours ago she had been weeping in his arms, how could she act so calm now?

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked, she shrugged, "As well as can be expected." She put the scoop back in the large bin and looked around for the lid, "How is your leg?"

"Fine," he replied, snatching the lid from the kitchen table before her fingers reached it. He paused and looked at her for a moment, searching for any sense of pain or anguish, but she remained as closed as Pandora's box. Beautiful outside, but for all he knew, a rampaging storm of emotions trapped within. Seeing nothing, he finally handed the lid "Why did that man call you a gypsy?" he asked. Louise's eyes suddenly blazed in her calm pale face, "That fool knows _nothing_ of me Erik." She hissed, slamming the lid on the bun with a dull clang. "Nothing!"

Erik was taken aback by her sudden fury, but waited, raising an eyebrow at her, she glanced up at him and bit the inside of her cheek, "Just leave it will ye not?" her voice slipping into the village brogue. For the first time Erik noticed her voice and pronunciation were different to those of Dion, she spoke with a deliberate but late education, impressions of her youth still printed under her words. Erik started slightly as he realised, all was not as it seemed, but the again, he was the lord of all illusions, was he not?  
"Where are you from?" he took the pail from her hands and placed it beside her, Louise turned from him and rested her hands on the bench, staring at the whitewashed walls.

"What was that song you sang to me?" she asked instead.

"_Music of the Night_" he answered automatically, "Wait! Don't change the subject mademoiselle!"

A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips, "Too late" she replied, he scowled at her.

"Then tell me of yourself," he tried a different tack.

"Of my life here?" she shrugged, "There is little to tell,"

Frustrated he went and stood beside her, breathing in the rosemary scent, he knew if he ever was lost again, he could probably find his way back to this place simply by that scent alone. "Tell me," he said quietly.

Louise stopped and took her hands off the bench. "Erik…" she paused and took a breath to start again, "Erik, I know I've asked you about your own past, and I feel honoured that you have trusted me enough to allow me to know what lies in your soul. But I cannot tell you the same of me…at least, not now." She picked up her pail and went to take it outside, Erik blocked her way, "You do not trust me," he accused, she shook her head,

"I do not trust myself," she answered. She walked around him and out to where Cinnamon neighed impatiently, Erik followed doggedly,

"At least tell me who she is?" he pleaded, Louise stiffened, "Who?" she asked, though her heart already told her the answer.

"Claire" Erik breathed, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder, she moved away from him before his fingers even reached the cloth of her shirt. Loose blonde hair falling like a barrier between them. "Claire? She was mine…a lifetime ago." She strode over to the stables, not looking back at him, "And I've asked you not to do that Erik, for my sake, please?"

Erik followed her out, noting with guilt that he had not bothered to rub down Cinnamon properly, he took up a brush and began the task of smoothing the dust and sweat from the young mare's coat. "Leave it," Louise commanded, "She has a temp- "

Cinnamon tuned and clamped her jaws on Erik's arm, he jumped back with a curse as Louise laughed cynically. "I suppose you think it funny?" he demanded, massaging his wounded arm. "Go inside, Erik, I'll calm her."

Stubbornly, Erik shook his head, "It has never been my life to sit around and be waited on," he told her, she sighed, taking up the fallen brush, "There's a pile of wood outside that needs to be chopped, I trust you know how to handle an axe?" Erik nodded briefly and left, he would wait, he had not given up yet.

Louise continued to brush Cinnamon with the lost expression of one utterly absorbed in her task to the point of no longer thinking of anything else, the steady rhythmic chopping of Erik with the axe lulled her thoughts into nothingness. Finally finished with Cinnamon's grooming, she put the bush and combs away to walk outside, blinking in the midday sun. The slow creak of a goat drawn cart caught her ears and she turned to the track to see a dusty Shaun making his way up her road.

"Shaun!" she cried in genuine pleasure, the boys face lifted and he grinned and waved from under his hat. Flicking a birch rod at the hind legs of his white goat, he trundled up to the gate as she ran down to meet him.

"Shaun Peterson, well if you ain't a sight for sore eyes. What is it that ye doin' a visitin' me?" she laughed, Shaun drew himself up proudly, and handed her a mended iron pot, full to the brim with fresh raspberries. "Me Pa jest finished ye pot Miss Louise," he stated, "And these 'ere berries is frum me Mam an Missy fer yer help with Sara." His face took on a solemn tone, "The funerals this Sat'day, Miss Louise, Sara wants ye there,"

"Right," Louise frowned slightly, "What does Mickel say to all this?"

Shaun grinned mischievously, "I dunno what it is that ye friend did te 'im, Miss Louise, but he sure as eggs got all them big men a quakin' in their boots, bin a fun thing te watch, no mistake"

Louise smiled at him, "Well come in fer a cool drink then young Shaun, I've a mind that ye've been out in this sun fer longer than what's good fer ye, n I can't be eatin' these berries all on my lonesome now can I?" Shaun grinned guiltily in reply, tugging on his jacket in an attempt to hide the red stains already on his sleeves, Louise saw this and hid a grin. "Come on then, leave poor Bessie in the shade under the tree." The two began to make their way back into the house, Louise balancing the full pot against her hip when an unmasked and red-faced Erik came around the garden wall, axe in one hand and rubbing sweat out of his eyes. Shaun took one look at Erik's face and the axe in his strong arms and gave a yelp of dismay, then, rather bravely for an eight-year-old, jumped in front of Louise. "You run Miss Louise," he said valiantly, holding his birch whip at the ready "I'll hold 'im"

Erik, whose face had flickered into a small smile at the sight of Shaun, collapsed and he dropped the axe, shielding his face with his arms. Louise dropped her pot onto the grass, spilling half the berries. "No Shaun don't!" she cried, catching the young tigercub's arm "He's a friend" She pulled Shaun into her embrace, working the branch from his fingers, "He's a friend," she repeated, half to herself. Erik took one look at them together and ran back out into the garden, "Erik, wait!" he heard Louise cry, he tripped on a rock and stumbled to his knees, pain shooting up his leg, he crawled to the well and knelt, resting his hideous face on his arms in despair.

"No Shaun, no! Come inside, he wont hurt you, I promise," Louise hushed his young fears, she picked up her pot, casually tossing in most of the berries that had spilt, "Come on now, inside, I'll get you a drink." She ushered him inside and set him down with a cup of milk and a plate of bread butter and berries. "Wait here," she told him as he dug in, worry creasing her pale brow.

She walked outside to find Erik still kneeling at the well, his shoulders shaking with invisible sobs. She breathed a sigh of relief that he was still in her garden. "Erik," she called softly, touching his shoulder with light fingers, "Erik, look at me."

Slowly he lifted his face and looked at her, tears coursing down the ravines of his torn face, with a sigh she dipped a corner of her apron into the bucket hanging over the well and wiped the tears from his eyes, "Come inside," she urged gently, Erik turned away from her, "I cant," he muttered thickly, "You can," she said firmly, "You must, if you ever want Shaun to trust you."

Erik rounded on her angrily, "You would have me show him! Show this face which earnt a mother's fear and loathing?"

"Better than this heart which knows a mother's loss and sorrow!" Louise cried in pain, tears forming in her own eyes. She took a shuddering breath and getting a hold of herself, continued, "Shaun has seen you Erik, nothing can change that fact, but you have a choice, you can meet and find a friend in him, or you can turn yourself away from his kindness and my own."

"We've already met," Erik replied with a humourless laugh, "He was the one who guided me to you yesterday." Was it only yesterday? He thought, it feels so long ago. Louise smiled gently, "Then it will only be easier, he already trusts you."

"And yet you don't" Erik returned bitterly, hanging his head. Louise put her fingers under his chin and forced him to meet her eyes.

"I only said I didn't trust myself Erik, that doesn't mean I don't trust you," she smiled.

"But how can you know that he will not run to his village and call his father and uncles to arms?" Erik cried brokenly.

"I only know that he will not do such a thing if only you will talk with him," Louise retorted impatiently, Erik's face flickered with a half smile, "Can you promise that?" he asked in a humourless tone, Louise shook her head, "I can promise nothing," she replied, cupping his jaw in her hand, "But this," she reached up and kissed him tenderly, with lips that tasted of warm butter and dry tears, and skin that smelt of rosemary. Then she drew back and looked at him with a smile, Erik's eyes fluttered open in surprise, taking her hand with his own he pressed it ho his lips. "Now come," she said gently, "Let's go inside"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Disclaimer: You know the drill.

"Shaun?" Louise asked gently, stepping inside the whitewashed kitchen, "I have someone I want you to meet,"

The little boy looked up, a frothy moustache of milk on his lip, "Yeth Mithh Louithe?" he asked around a mouthful of bread and butter.

"Shaun Peterson you know better than to speak with your mouthful," Louise reproved gently, tugging Erik inside with one firm, rosemary hand, "This is Erik, he tells me you've met before,"

"Beggin' ye pardon, Miss Louise, but I don't thinks we 'ave," Shaun rejected the idea, Erik, with his head bowed, gave a short, cynical laugh, "Tell me Shaun," he said a trifle spitefully, "Did you enjoy your apple?"

The eight year olds mouth dropped open, revealing a gap between his two front teeth, Louise sighed and lifted a corner of her apron to wipe away the moustache on his upper lip, Shaun flushed and pulled back. "That was ye?" he whispered, "By gore mister! I is right sorry!"

"Am," Louise corrected absently, watching Erik's reaction.

"Wot?"

"I _am_ sorry, you know better than that Shaun,"

Erik was clutching his chest in sudden pain, the simple apology the boy had given to him struck something deep within his soul. Had anyone ever apologised to him before? Ever at all? His entire life had been spent excusing his face, and now a child was asking _his _forgiveness, for a sight that had made grown men hunt him down in rage. He managed a weak smile at the boy, which was returned with a gap-toothed grin, and felt his eyes burn with fresh tears. He turned away swiftly, covering his face with his hands to catch the hot salt.

"Aw geez mister, ye don't need to cover yer face!" Shaun proclaimed, licking berry stains from his fingers, "Not amongst friends," Louise added softly, Erik drew in a shaking breath and nodded, staring at the scrubbed white benches, a neat hand rested gently on his shoulder for a moment, pressing warm fingers on his cold back. He risked a glance up at Louise, her face swimming in the cloudy tears that blinded his sight, she nodded once and let him slip past her, back into the quiet solitude of the garden to collect himself. He rubbed the backs of his fine long hands over his eyes, furiously brushing away the tears, as inside, Louise took up Shaun's empty plate and ushered him outside to return home, untying Bessie and sending him off with a wave and a handful of berries.

Erik knelt in the cool grass, the garden warm and sheltered by rough stonewalls. Neat rows of vegetables and potted herbs were arranged around the edge of the secluded area. His fingers brushed over spiced leaves, pausing at a spiky, spindly plant, rosemary. He twisted a sprig from the bush and brought it close to his face, breathing the scent in deeply, there was something so commonplace, yet mysterious, about the scent, he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Erik?" he opened his eyes, a pair of bare feet, graced by a brown skirt stood before him, he knelt up, raising his eyes to meet Louise's grey ones, even kneeling, he came up to her shoulder. Wordlessly, he handed her the sprig of herb, she took it and sniffed the scent with a sigh of happiness, then tucked the stem behind her ear, then she stepped close and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, as he pressed his distorted face against her stomach, breathing in time to the silent wind that whispered from the forest.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

This one is dedicated to Cap'n Meg! Who has mourned the loss of the shirt and pants as deeply as I have (or at least that's what she told me anyway).

Authoresses Note: In this chapter I am combining my two favourite beings ever, The Phantom of the Opera, and Count Dracula, King of Vampires! (Incidentally, Gerry B has played both) Please be warned, if you are anything like me, excessive fainting will occur. (We get to see Erik in black clothes with a cape again! Yay!)

Warning: You will fall in love, you may swear yourself to darkness forever.

Sorry for the long wait, exams, 7 muses, 8 stories, walks in the rain to the cemetery (I did that last night, took me an hour to get there, don't ask me why, I don't even have any family buried there) you know how it goes.

"Erik?" Louise's voice called

"What?" he answered grumpily, since Louise had taken out his stitches, his leg was almost healed, but it _itched_!

"I'm headed up to the church, would you like to come?" she paused in the doorway, satchel slung loosely over one shoulder.

"Of course," he replied, getting up eagerly, anything to take his mind of that abominable itching in this leg of his, and hadn't she mentioned an organ?

"So what are we visiting the church for?" he asked as they wandered over a long grassy meadow to the small stone building.

"Jason and his troupe are coming this way about a month from now, and I'm already a week behind in costuming for them," she replied, "Look out, there's a patch of nettles there," Erik limped his way around the plants and caught up quickly, his leg was gaining strength day by day. Louise glanced at his long form, silhouetted against the sun as he walked beside her, "Plus, monsieur, you are in dire need of some new clothes." Erik blushed, then turned his bare face up to the sun, smiling at the blessed relief freedom from the mask offered.

The small grey dot blurring the horizon grew as the two neared closer. Erik cast a professional eye over the building, his artisan's side asserting itself. The building was thin and narrow, a short steeple rose up from the sharply angled roof, and three windows graced each side, gleaming with dull painted colours that would no doubt paint the inner walls a rainbow of sacred shades once the sun hit them. Louise paused at the door, a simple but sturdy oak solid construction, halved down the centre and set with a simple lock. She fumbled for a moment in her satchel as Erik leaned against a wall, resting his tender muscles, and produced a large, cast iron key. She fitted it to the lock and twisted until the old tumblers clicked and echoed through the ancient building. She pushed open the door and stood aside for Erik to enter, "Welcome, good sir, to my domain,"

Erik stepped into the threshold and gazed about. Granite stone walls were smoothly cut and polished with professional care, and set within these were arch windows, painted with Bible scenes in rich tones of purple, red, yellow and blue. Six rows of wooden pews sat rigidly on either side of a bare aisle leading up to the broad alter, unashamedly set out with several baskets of blue and brown cloth and measuring ropes, somewhat reminiscent of the gospel story of the fish and loaves. More baskets were stacked on the pews, spilling cloth everywhere. The bizarre sight was like a carnival meeting a graveyard, a raised pulpit stood to the fore left of the alter knave, carved with stone figures and with piles of fabric spread in a dizzying swirl around the base. Arched beams braced the roof down to the knave where the alter sat, and to the right of the alter…

Erik's eyes glowed as he looked on the tall pipes of the organ, and the wooden pedals peeking out like a lady's shoes from beneath the green velvet covering, long dusty with years of ignorance. With a determined step he strode up the centre of the non-church, he lifted the covers, and brushed a loving hand over the ivory keys, yellowing with age, but still playable.

"Is it to your liking?" Louise asked, almost coyly as she made a beeline for the front pew and lifted an amethyst silk gown. She pulled a measuring rope from her pocket and began to record the lengths of rustling fabric, "Helena, Hermia and Titania to start with," she murmured to herself, "And let's hope Arno hasn't put on any more weight, otherwise he'll never fit into Bottom's costume." She glanced up at Erik, still glued to the organ, "There's a sacristy near to the back, through that little side door as well," she said with the air of someone who did not expect to be listened to. Erik looked over and flashed her an almost boyish grin, dropping the dusty cover before he gave into temptation. He walked back down the aisle, looking up at the stained glass windows, a painted image of the Journey to Bethlehem caught his eye and he drew closer to examine the glasswork. Mary's face was serene as she rode the donkey, led by a tall Joseph, one hand laid caressingly over her rounded belly, her half smile was dreamy, as though she could hear a music played silently within her, the growth of new life and salvation. Erik reached out a curious hand to touch the domed stomach of the Mother of Christ, if he could just hear what she heard, his salvation may come to.

"That one's my favourite," Erik jerked his hand back guiltily, Louise smiled, "Go ahead, you wont break it," Gently, the former lord of Parisian terror brushed his fingers over the glass, cupping the womb of Christ in one cold, pale hand. To his surprise, the glass was warm, as though the life of Jesus pulsed within the still capture of Mary's belly. Erik drew his fingers over the glass a second time, and then let his hand drop, and watched the stained glass with the naivety of a child, mixed with the cold knowledge of an adult, and the blessed sense of hope for redemption as sunlight fell through the glass and lay gently on his disfigured face.

Louise smiled to herself as she looked at him, tall and lost in thought, she dropped her gaze back to her work as he turned away to examine the rest of the old building with the smooth liquid grace of a panther.

Erik spied a black something slyly winking at him from a deep basket hidden beside one of the pews. He reached out one long fingered hand and drew out a lengthy black cloak with red lining. "What's this?" he asked, inspecting the fine velvet. Louise looked up from the amethyst silk dress she was measuring, a frown crossed lines into her forehead, then she smiled in remembrance, "Dracula," she replied, "The play wasn't well received so they gave the costume to me."

"Ah," Erik gave the heavy cloth an experimental twirl, it felt comfortable in his hands, and peered beneath the cloak to find a black shirt and what looked like a dark red dress tunic and black trousers lay neatly folded in the basket. He stole a glance at Louise who was still distracted by the purple gown, and a grin came over his face.

"You said there was a sacristy back there?" he asked, Louise looked up,

"Yes," she replied shortly, he was distracting her with all his questions, he could tell.

"Thankyou," he replied slipping around her, arms full of costume. Louise grunted noncommittally and Erik suppressed a chuckle. (You can guess what's coming next… cant you?)

Louise finished counting out the length of fabric and looked up, Erik was nowhere to be seen, "Erik?" she asked, echoes bouncing off the stone walls of the old church. "Where have you got to now?"

"**Foolish child! You dare to disturb the peace of the Phantom of the Opera?" **

The rich voice rebounded throughout the stone church, startling birds out of nearby trees. As Louise had claimed, the acoustics were magnificent, and she swore and spun around in shock.

A masked outline stood on the pulpit, dressed in black, and with Dracula's black cloak flowing behind him. The carvings of the pulpit seemed to rise up their arms in ecstasy of that voice and the dark shrouded figure that balanced upon it.

Louise stared up in awe at this dark angel, her grey eyes huge in her head. Erik was quite pleased with the shocked look on her face. With a dramatic swirl of his cloak, he leapt from the pulpit and landed on the stone floor, he advanced on Louise who had stood and was backing towards the wall, one hand clutching her cross at her neck. Abruptly Erik turned and walked towards the organ, he angrily whipped off the covers and seated himself, then, pausing a moment, began to play.

Louise gazed in wonder as the notes spun themselves across the arches of the church. Up until now she had only ever seen Erik dressed in rags, a dressing gown, or a soft shirt and breeches, and apart from that first night, always with his mask off. Yet here was a true vision of mysterious powers and dark imaginings. Obviously he had found the mask covered his eyes and ravaged cheek in one of the baskets. As he stared down at her from the pulpit, Louise realised that the one she had nursed and bandaged was not merely an unfortunate victim of circumstances…he was a man. And such a man! She had bathed him of course, (How else was she to get the dirt off him?) But this figure clad in darkness was something else entirely.

And his music! Lord she had never heard such playing, her heart lifted and she moved to stand beside him. She watched his fingers as they glided across the keys, his genius was evident as she laid one soft hand on his shoulder. Erik finished his song, and let his hands rest, covering her fingers with his own.

"The Phantom of the Opera, Erik?" she asked softly, "Is that who you are?"

"Yes," Erik replied, heavily "I am,"

"Oh Erik!" Louise flung her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.

Erik stiffened for a moment at her touch, then relaxed and hesitantly placed his arm around her, shifting so that she could sit beside him. She flinched as his fingers brushed her down past her shoulders, reminding him that she still had secrets of her own locked away, he raised his hand to wrap around her arm, tilting her head to lay against his cold neck, her warm breath brushing against his open collar

"So that is why Fron and Jan found you on the side of the road," she stated quietly, Erik nodded his agreement, touching the red blonde locks that cascaded across her neck and onto his shoulders.

"I had nothing left to live for in Paris," his broken voice revealed memories still to painful to bear, "My life there was over when I lost Christine."

"But you have a new one here," Louise hesitated softly, Erik was silent, then he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her close.

"I suppose I have," he said in wonder, realising for the first time, he could be happy staying here for the rest of his life.

"But Erik," Louise said, sitting up to look at him, "The difference between here and Paris is that you don't need that thing around me." She raised one rosemary hand and pulled the mask away from his face. For once, Erik didn't leap back or cover his face with his hand, he simply allowed the dark leather to be removed.

Ye gods it took me a long time to get that finished! I never expected this chapter to become particularly religious, when I first wrote it (the second piece I ever wrote in this phic) Erik was still being newly written by me, but its interesting how a 3 month break can change things.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't even own a sanity, what makes ye think I own this?

To anyone who reads more than one of my phics and is wondering: For some reason, in Mirror, Erik is the Leroux Erik, but with Webber's songs (I like the lyrics to Music of the Night ok?) and my Healer Erik is a Gerik, yet the muse for this tale is still my Leroux Mirror Erik. Strange wot? I tell ye, tis a right hard thing te try when ye got more than a single Erik loose in ye head…not te mention the Gerry Beast tied up in ye wardrobe…Lord save me I feel like Shaun…I want an apple!

**Review Replies:**

**des ires:** Yeah, I am not a shoe person...and the Don Juan pants have never captured all THAT much of my attention, very much a shoulers girl...but I love to sew so thats where my obsession comes from (that and the fact that all the current fashions apart from the big gypsy skirts are just SKANKY!)

**Lady Assassin Moonbeam:** Thanks! I adore Dracula, I just got Bram Stokers from the library AND watched Dracula 2-0-0-0(squees and faints into a neck bitten stupor)

**Ethalas Tuath'an:** Actually most of my work is angst or fantasy based, it was just because I tossed myself into the Phantom realm I felt i should keep myself in type (and so you find me there, warped mentality and absolute frankness and all) If you want true seriousness try Midnight Suitor every time i even read the second chapter i end up so emotionally drained from it

**Mariella D'Angelo:** Thankyou! (ands her a bucket and joins in drooling) If i couldnt write i dont think I could live

**Phantomfreak07:** try s12.invision (take out the 7 and the spaces) its up there in full in the attic

**mrs. malfoy:** I know what you mean! Dont tell me about LOST! I have to wait till february! dont spoil it!

**Reltistic:** (Shaun) Here I be miss Ari, dontcha be frettin ye purty li'l head over me, yeah, its strange with two Erik's

**trisana:** No more of the one where he says "Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty" when he closes the door and soes a slight cape twirl...sneaky! Havent read Phantom...but I want to!

**Blaze:** Guh! Erik demands too much of me, my head is spinning!

**onelastchance:** Nice name! phantasmic...I like that

**Jen Lennon:** (joins her on the floor in the faint) Oh yeah...

**daughterofdarkness87:** Yep, sworn to darkness since i was 9 and read the 13th floor...and ever since I first saw Starwars (all my life, thanks Dad)

**Cap'n Meg:** How could I not dedicate it to you? Here! Rum to celebrate!

Some days later, Louise was delivered a crate of blankets and shawls from a travelling hawker, she stood outside in the sun and joked with the man, Jickery she called him, as they manhandled the wooden box down from his mule-drawn wagon, and up onto the front step. After sending the man off back the way he had come with a meal and small jug of ale, Erik ventured cautiously out from his bedroom, "Is he gone?" he asked nervously, Louise nodded, unbuckling the straps that held the crate lid down and heaving open the top. "You didn't need to hide you know," she told him, "Jickery's seen enough in this world that I doubt ye'd be bothering him,"

Erik shook his head mutely, he trusted Louise, but no others…not yet.

"So what are these for?" he asked, indicating the woollen blankets piled amidst tissue paper and brown packages.

"For me to deliver to the village," Louise answered, "Jickery's not always welcome by Jessie Critans and the like, so he gives it te me te pass onto the others," she retrieved a small scrap of none too clean paper, scrawled with childish handwriting and frowned at it a moment, "Right," she murmured to herself, then glanced up at Erik, "Care to come? You really should meet Una,"

"Whose Una?" Erik asked uneasily, Louise laughed, tossing her red gold braid over her shoulders, "A friend of mine," she glanced up at him mischievously, "She'd like you,"

"I'm not sure…" Erik trailed off, Louise looked at him calmly, "Come," she stated, "For no other reason than to carry this box for me,"

xXx

"Who goes there?" the wheezy voice demanded as Louise pushed open the creaky door, set in a worn frame in the small dilapidated house by the edge of Dion.

"Hello Una," she greeted the old woman, kissing one yellow parchment cheek.

"Eh? Oh it's you Louise," the old woman settled comfortably back into her rocking chair. "Come to berate an old woman for not doin' as the doctor says again?"

Louise laughed, "You know me too well to expect that of me Una," she retorted, holding the door open for Erik, "Take it easy with that box," she warned him.

"Eh?" Who's that?" Una demanded, brandishing her cane as her blind eyes searched wildly for the intruder.

"Just a friend, Una" Louise reassured the aged crone. Una relaxed back into her chair with a cackle.

"Brought yerself a man, have ye? Knew ye'd settle down eventually. Well comes here then lad! I s'pose those is my blankets yer totin', jest settle 'em down somewhere and let me look at ye."

Erik glanced at Louise who smiled and nodded. He set down the box and approached the old woman carefully,

"Madame," he greeted her warily. Una chortled, showing her grey teeth.

"Ooh! Lovely voice this one has, Louise! Very nice indeed!" she stretched out one hand and groped for Erik's face, he flinched back instinctively and looked pleadingly at Louise.

"Madame, I would prefer..." he began, but Una's fingers had found the mask.

"Ah," she sighed, and turned sightless eyes to Louise, "Secrets, this one has, Miss Louise, secrets only blind eyes can see…has he told ye?"

"As much as he sees fit," Louise replied evasively, lifting the lid off the box and taking out a thick woollen shawl, "Here, try this."

The old woman shrugged the rosy coloured wool around her shoulders, "Adequate" she grunted. "Ye dain't answer my question,"

"I don't need to," Louise replied simply. Una seemed to find this extremely funny and she rocked back creakily in laughter.

"Ah, Louise, yer as close as a clamshell yerself! And here old Una was, thinkin' ye'd found yerself a nice dull farm boy te lift ye boxes. What a fool I were!"

Louise laughed, "I've done the drunk act once before, Una," she replied, switching shawls, "I daint enter it willingly then, and I don't intend to now. You above all others should realise that."

"No," Una sighed, "I suppose ye wouldn't at that." She groped blindly for Louise's hand and found it, placing it in Erik's, then wrapped their joined hands in her withered ones, as if bestowing a blessing.

"There's secrets there," she said, frowning, "But they is the kind that make, not the kind that break." She sighed back into her chair, feeling her shawl. "This one's fine, girl, you trot off with that lad of yours and deliver the others."

"We will Una," Louise answered, and kissed the old woman's cheek in goodbye.

"And don't let that no good Jesse Critans go sayin' that I duped ye into giving me the best with one of her superstitious spells!" she cried, Louise laughed as she slipped out to untie Cinnamon.

"I won't Una!" she called, Erik bent to retrieve the box of shawls.

"And lad?" Una's voice called,

"Yes?" he turned to look at her, her sightless white eyes seemed to look straight into his soul, and her voice took on a strange tone.

"Yer, a special one, lad, that goes without sayin', just as Louise is a special girl. She trusts ye, and believe you me, ye might not think it te look at her, but she trusts a damn few. Don't abuse that trust, that girl is a daughter to me, and she's got a past that well nigh match's yer own. Tread careful, but tread firm, and don't let her smile fool ye, she needs ye as much as ye need her." Erik nodded in reply,

"Very well,"

Una grinned, showing her tombstone teeth.

"I like ye lad, fer what it's worth, ye have my blessing."

"Thankyou, Madame Una," Erik answered and left the old woman to her new shawl.

"What did Una say?" Louise asked, strapping the box down once again, Erik searched his mind,

" 'Tread careful, but tread firm' she told me," he replied, Louise laughed,

"Trust Una," she said, shaking her red gold mane. "Now let's get on with this shall we?"

Together, the two gypsy children turned and began the trek down the road, to deliver the rest of Cinnamon's burden.

The reason I love this phic so much is I think the way my people talk (yes, my people) there's just so much charm in the rustic speech of Una, and the cheeky little boy actions of Shaun. He's possibly the youngest character I've ever created, original or phic-wise who's had so much personality. –Squeals and hugs her Shaun baby- Aww! He's such a cutie ye ken? He's kinda got the characteristics of my youngest brother (who is 12) and a friend's little brother (who is 15) but they are both such darlings! Especially Nick, we were in Grease together last year, paired up as Marty and Vince Vontain (or is it Fontain?) –Sigh- I just love my little Shaunikins!


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16 A very pervy drooly chapter**

Disclaimer: Haven't we been through this already?

A short update, Exams are my next 6 week deal, so I am not abandoning this phic, nor any of my others, but updates will definitely be slower.

**Trisana**: PLEASE SEND ME THE PHANTOM PDF FILE I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER! And yes, Gerik is smiling, it's a very sexy smirk, I have a song dedicated to it on Ode to Insanity "Lasso"

**Ethalas Tuath'an**: I love Una, I don't know where she came from but she's great

**Cap'n Meg:** You are special, you're especially special

**Mrs Malfoy:** 24? No sorry, I like Alias though

**PJBG:** Actually, my comps on the Aussie spell check thing Englishit, so there is no space in thankyou (also why there is a prevalence of u's and z's in my work) Dracula twothousand, check it out, the coat swishing is awesome!

**Phantomfreak07:** That would be so cool! I love talking like Shaun I do it to annoy my friends and they all go wtf? Meh, whatever Adi (and walk off)

**Jen Lennon:** I like Una too! Thanks!

**Reltisic:** Get your own rocking chair! Hee hee Shaunikins

**Warning! Exam alert! Therefore Reviews are pleaded for! (can you see me down on my knees? look its even bold and underlined to heighten the importance!)**

For the next month, Louise went into a veritable sewing frenzy, she had a list a foot long of the costumes she was supposed to create, as well as sketches and measurements, Erik glanced at Titania's gown for A Midsummer Night's Dream and nearly choked at the detailed notes written around the page that the dress required.

Amidst all this she also continued her work as the local healer, finding herbs and brewing poultices, and on one occasion, setting the broken leg of one of the local stable boys. For the most part, Erik either stayed in the small cottage, reading his way through the books on her shelves, or getting underfoot, up until the point when she threatened him with a pair of scissors and told him in no uncertain terms he could either "Sit still and behave or God help her she would tie him to the alter and use him as a dress frame, ye ken?"

Erik backed away rather hurriedly at that point, and afterwards kept his distance.

One early summer evening, when the wild sage and lavender that grew near to the forest was scenting the air, Louise slipped inside the front door of her cottage and practically fell into her favourite armchair by the fire, the large basket of costumes and cloth balanced on her hip tumbling over the floor, "Ay me," she groaned, rubbing her face with her hand, "I could sleep for a week!"

Erik stood from his own chair and dropped the book he had been pursuing, "But then who will cook?" he asked, kneeling to gather the mix of fabrics, Louise gave an unladylike snort in reply.

"Is your stomach all you ever think of Erik?" she teased gently, leaning back to let her head hit the back of her chair.

"No," Erik answered, blushing slightly as he scooped up a puddle of black buttons, "But you cook so well," His lips quirked mischievously as he let the beadlike buttons trickle through his hands and into a small pouch. Louise turned her head to look at his profile, with the light of the fire flames filling the room with golden light, his left was in perfect view a side (she had to admit privately) was _devastatingly_ handsome.

Strong, bold features, a straight jaw, tight and lined with a mix of despair and love, tender lips, rough dark brown hair that fell across his face, she absolutely _had_ to attend to that soon, it was nearly long enough to brush his broad shoulders, a noble visage for a noble man. And those _eyes_…

Some angel, toying with the colours of the sea had blessed him with eyes that could change from the deep blue of far off waves to the summer turquoise in an instant. The purest blend of blue and green that caught her breath in her throat when he looked at her with that rare colour.

Erik tipped the last of the buttons into the sack and tied the mouth shut, then looked up at Louise from his crouch on the floor, the firelight made his white shirt glow and she could see halfway down the open collar to his Adonis like chest, his black trousers tucked smoothly into the tops of his knee high boots, stretched taught around the man's rather gorgeous posterior…wait a minute! Where had that thought come from?

"Louise?" his husky voice washed over her, sending a delicious warm burr down her spine, like a cat purring and digging its claws into her skin.

"Hmm?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Did I? My apologies Erik I must have um, what was it that you asked?" she mentally shook away her blathering and the flush rising on her cheeks.

"I asked if you planned on retiring soon, or whether you would like a cup of tea?"

"Oh tea sounds heavenly," she sighed, "Wait do you know how?"

Erik stood and towered over her, Louise's neck craned to meet his eyes, "I can assure you mademoiselle, I looked after myself for many years, I am perfectly capable of boiling a kettle," he made a courtly bow to her and she couldn't help but laugh. "I shall return,"

"Get away with you, you rogue!" she flapped a tired hand at him, Erik laughed and exited. Louise lay back on her chair and mused drowsily as the warmth of the fire washed over her heavy feeling limbs.

Erik returned a few moments later with a steaming cup, which he proffered to Louise with another bow, "Mademoiselle,"

"Merci, Monsieur," she teased, accepting the cup with relish, Erik's lips quirked into that smile again, and his eyes transformed into that angel chosen turquoise…

-Written listening to Gerry singing Point of No Return…I just had to get descriptive with him, and I'm not going to apologise because I know you were all sitting at your computers swooning your little hearts out, so stop drooling and leave a review for me.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Disclaimer? This is a fiction site isn't it? Shouldn't there just be a general disclaimer on the front page?

Hmm…has anyone else here read Beverly Farmer's "Milk"? It's a short story from her collection, set in Greece, I was reading it the other day for Lit revision and came across the term "lykanthropos" which means werewolf. And it got me thinking, Lykan, wouldn't that be an absolutely to die for name for a guy? Anyway, while sitting at my desk thinking on this revelation, a sudden image roared its way into my mind (literally) astride a blazing Harley Davidson motorbike, gleaming black and silver "Lykan" howled his way into my life. He's not a muse (Thank God, 8 is enough as it is) but I say unashamedly he is my dream guy. Picture this, tall (about 6'5", a head taller than me or a little more), a shadowed, dark face with a strong jaw, he looks good either clean shaven or with stubble, black eyes, flecked with gold, dark black brown hair, slightly longish that curls down the nape of his neck, about 25 (Not my dream age! Horror! I'd prefer 34, but I'm not about to argue), lean but broad shouldered (not too broad) kind of a Gerry-ish way, minimal chest hair, thick strong arms, tanned skin, large hands, neat nails that are slightly sharp, black somewhat ripped T-shirt, long legs, covered by well-favoured jeans, a black leather jacket, and a long duster for special occasions, black boots, a loping kind of walk/run, but he can stalk like a panther, an absolute Adonis of a chest and immensely strong. And dangerous, my God is he dangerous! You never want to cross this wolf of a man, your life would not be worth living. Violently passionate in everything he loves (including the bedroom) a virtuoso violinist, he can spell you with his music, and perhaps best of all…a Scottish rumble that purrs and vibrates in his chest to match a voice that makes your insides curl.

He's definitely not Gerry, far from it, but there are common elements, Lord knows how one word inspired such a man, especially when I had nowhere to draw him from, but my God…I'm still in shock three days later, so if anyone finds him, tell him I want my Wolf now.

**Review Replies**

**PhantomFreak07: (gasping) Specia Spe- Special Edition? Oh damn you cruel world for depriving me!**

**Cap'n Meg: You sound like my friend, of course your especially special**

**naomipoe: I feel all special when I get your reviews...that reminds me, I dragged out all my rock gospel CD's from Youth Alive and such (ever heard of The Lads?) got some really good fast paced songs on there, and I thought you might like a few burnt for your church group. I spent the last 3 days bouncing round my room singing "My best friend's the creator of the Universe!" I forgot how much fun those songs were. just let me know**

**onelastchance: You must be patient, I loathe exams, I wrote this yesterday after my Biol and Maths ones, the posterior thing was a little ooc, but I felt obliged to put it in, definitely a chest girl here, but oddly enough i find it a hard thing to write on...meh, i dunno, I'm rambling (again)**

**Jen Lennon: (swoons along side) wasnt it just?**

**Ethalas Tuath'an: Yeah my computer likes to freeze, usually in the middle of writing review replies (glares at computer)**

**mrs. malfoy: (hands her a drool bucket) I guess you can drool if you feel the need, nope, never watched 24, actually my TV just died(horror!)**

**Mariella D'Angelo: New keyboard huh? Err...(checks bank balance) you may need to wait a while**

**PhantomSecretLove: Thanks! Three down, four to go:)**

**MasqueradingThroughLife: Erik...shut up, let MTL drool if she wants, you go...play nintendo or something (My own Erik chokes in the background) well figure out somthing, do my chemistry for example, and leave us to swoon in peace**

**PJBG: It was described as a slasher, the first 45 minutes are somewhat gruesome (But I'm a monster fiend so that stuff doesnt bother me, not sure on you though). I dont know if garlic helps with Dracula 2000, it actually had a really cool take on him, its worth watching just for that (though he dies! my Gerry with fangs dies! No!) I'm not good with scaring but Vampires make my knees go weak.**

**Reltistic: Gerik Gerik GERIK! Must return Timeline to the videoshop, its already 4 days overdue on a one night borrow, as well as Leroux to the Library.**

"Erik will you please hold still!" The Phantom froze in his seat and sank lower with a sigh, above and behind him Louise rolled her eyes and combed a lock of damp hair and snipped carefully with her scissors, neatening the shaggy pile.

"I hardly see why this is all that necessary," Erik pointed out grumpily, crossing his arms over his chest, shrugging his shoulders in the coarse fabric of a new shirt, a firm hand clamped down on the crown of his head as he went to shake a few strands from in front of his eyes, "It's necessary," Louise instructed as she gave a slight snip down near his collar, "Because you are beginning to resemble a haystack, and I'll be damned if I let you wander around my house looking like a horse's tail,"

Erik gave a sigh of longsuffering acceptance, "Yes Louise," he groaned, giving up.

"Oh don't sigh at me like I'm a spinster aunt," she laughed, "You make me feel old,"

"You old?" Erik nearly turned his head, then winced and stayed still as Louise's silver scissors sheared dangerously close to his ear, "You're no more than twenty,"

"Twenty one actually, old enough to know better, young enough not to care," she laughed, "Will you hold still!" a few more, seemingly random clips to Erik, and she dusted the loose hairs from his shoulders, "There," she crossed around to face him, Erik looked up at her from the kitchen chair with an expression of faint disbelief on his face, the slight quirk of his eyebrows spoke more eloquently than words at his incredulity she had just spent a determined half hour trimming and snipping his hair. The question in his eyes, _Why bother?_ The scissors sclicked closed as Louise reached out and trimmed a stray hair hanging over his eyes, then folded her arms and looked at him self satisfactorily. "Much better," she smiled, shifting to slide her scissors home into their place in her sewing kit, "I can see your eyes now,"

"I could see perfectly well before your snipping frenzy," Erik grumbled deep in his chest.

"But you have such pretty eyes," Louise half teased, Erik's gaze went ice blue in surprise, "I beg your pardon?" he unfolded himself from the wooden chair and towered over her, disdainfully brushing cut hair from his broad shoulders with elegant flicks of his fingers.

"Well…they really are one of your best features," Louise spoke into her kit, Erik gazed at her in surprise, was his healer _blushing?_

"I wasn't aware I even had a best feature," he murmured softly, Louise whirled around smartly to reprimand him for speaking as such, then her mouth closed as she saw his gently touching the ruined marring on his face.

"Everyone has a best feature Erik," she told him, voice light, but grey eyes grave, she reached out a rosemary hand and covered his fingers with her own, slowly tracing the cursed lines on the deformed side of his face. Hesitantly, Erik pressed into her hand, lowering his own while butting at her fingers like a kitten starved for attention. His eyes dropped shut as he nuzzled her palm, eager to be touched, for his face to be caressed with the soothing warmth of her fingers, his warm breath rolled down her arm, a silent goggle rolled around her throat and she reached up to take the former Phantom's great head in both her small hands, forcing him to look at her. "They aren't always in plain sight, but they are there,"

Erik smiled briefly, the muscles of his face moving awkwardly against the framing of Louise's hands. An unfamiliar rush of warmth ran down from her fingers to her spine and she dropped her fingers, Erik held back a sigh as the light summer air kissed his cheek, where the warmth of her hands still lingered. "Then yours is easy to see," he told her solemnly.

"Oh?" Louise looked up and caught his eyes changing from blue turquoise, "And what might that be?"

"Mercy," he told her simply, reaching out a long fingered hand to cradle her own face, his eyes stayed turquoise, but within a fearful caged animal raged in horror that she would reject his touch...she did not. "All your actions are driven by compassion, it's obvious in the way you move,"

Louise however had gone dead white, putting up a hand to catch Erik's in her own, squeezing gently to hold him still, "Mercy you say" she murmured, she shook her head to clear it of some thought, and attempted a smile, "It appears you know me far to well, Monsieur Erik,"

"I'm getting there," the jibe was a reminder of how little he truly knew of her, he watched as she fumbled with her kit, finally managing to tie the knots and push the bag to one side. (Indeed you are, Erik) she thought to herself, she glanced out the window at the fresh summer air, Erik was still watching her intensely, perhaps it hadn't been such a good idea to reveal his eyes. Her gaze dropped to the fresh loaf of bread and cooling biscuits she had made that morning, she turned and smiled at Erik, who allowed a rare and genuine smile to reflect back through his own distorted features, "There's a beautiful little brook in a part of my forest Erik, what do you say to a picnic?"

Lykan…mmm…and he loves me, I may not know where he is right now but I know that much, deeply, passionately, jealously, heart body and soul…and now I cant wait to find him. Which oddly enough I get the feeling I will, the year after next, when I move to Adelaide for Uni.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18 

"Just a little further this way!" Louise's lilt rang through the soft golden green light of the forest, grey gnarled trunks stretched up strong branches that ran on into fine finger twigs emblazoned with the crests of elm, oak and birch. The high branches spread above them as the leaves formed light green tunnels through which dappled grass sung invitingly to weary and not so weary feet to come and rest a bit.

Ducking under a low-hanging branch, Erik followed the flash of brown skirt that weaved on ahead of him, his foot slipped on a patch of moss and he caught hold of a tree to swing himself around and narrowly avoided ending up tumbling into Louise.

"Easy!" she cried, catching his arm, helping him stand upright she gestured to the space before them, "What did I tell you?"

Erik stared about him, a moss carpeted grove of ancient elms, poplars and birches sheltered raspberry and blackberry briars from the worst of the early summer heat, a chuckling brook giggled over smooth river pebbles, spilling out into a shallow pool ringed by moss and heavy stones. A weeping willow drooped graceful branches to kiss the water gently and tiny white daisies peered up through the soft grass. The place held an almost ethereal feel, like stepping out of the mortal bonds of the real world and into a child goddess's plaything. "It's beautiful," he murmured, touching a heavy hand to his face, wondering if he even belonged there. Louise did not seem to notice, she spun a lazy circle and fell beside the stream, "This is my favourite place of anywhere," she declared, Erik smiled, "I wonder why?"

Louise tugged off her shoes and stockings and took a seat on a soft cushion of moss, dangling her bare feet in the cool water, a silver minnow swam up and began nibbling at her toes. She laughed and flinched away motioning for Erik to drop the basket he carried and relax on the cool moss.

Erik set down the wicker basket and crouched beside the stream, Louise sighed as the minnow flashed silver in the sunlight and disappeared into the wider pool. Erik's turquoise eyes watched the tiny fish as it was swept along by the smooth current and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips. Dipping skeletal fingers into the cool water he began stroking the current, fingers flowing back and forth through the glassy water, humming a soft tune as his fingers danced. Louise gasped in surprise as the minnow reappeared, soon followed by another five or six. Still humming, Erik directed the silvery fish to swim a circle chasing one another's tails through the light speckled water. The circle broke into two smaller rounds, then joined together again as a figure eight. Louise propped herself forward and stared down at the water, her grey eyes wide. Erik stole a glance at her and smirked in satisfaction at her shocked gaze. Changing the tune slightly his tongue rippled out a tiny issue of commands, matched by the flickering of his fingers in the clear water, each minor swam up close to Louise's pale feet and swam a brief somersault before her, a fishlike bow of regard before flashing away into the shallow pool. Louise gravely returned each curtsy with a nod and a smile to each of the seven miniature fish. The final fish, also the first one who had made a snack of her toes, turned two somersaults and was rewarded with a laugh of delight from the healer's cross encircled throat, then flashed away as Erik removed his fingers from the water and dried them on his shirt.

Louise watched the water eagerly for a moment with the open-mouthed enchantment of a child, then glanced at Erik.

"I will not ask how you did that monsieur," she teased, "But I thank you just the same,"

A smile twisted Erik's face, "The pleasure was all mine," he murmured, lifting her hand to press it to his lips. They stared at one another for a moment, calm, shy grey eyes against a blend of green and blue that were as mysterious and haunted as they were beautiful.

Hesitantly, Erik took Louise's face in his hands, she stared at him wide-eyed, a tiny tremor running through her frame, her grey eyes closed against the cool green daylight as he slowly lowered his lips to hers. Did all kisses taste of something? Erik wondered, Christine's had tasted of salt and tears, Louise tasted of warm flour and rosemary. He had never kissed anyone before, oh he had _been_ kissed, of course he had, but that was not a real kiss, Louise leaned against him as his lips continued to move against hers, and slowly, oh so slowly their mouths opened to one another.

Their heads nodded in time as he deepened the kiss. Fingers brushing cheeks, hair, collars, hesitant and daring, cradling that shared fragile love in the sweet simple depths of a kiss...

Goddamnit I am good!


End file.
